Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Korea South and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Frankie Knuckles to the funk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Bauhaus. All the underground hits.
All The Grass Roots tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sunsets and Hearts record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sandy B,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Gap Band,
Wire,
Panda Bear,
Tears for Fears,
cv313,
The Beau Brummels,
The Saints,
Sonny Sharrock,
Bob Dylan,
John Lydon,
Jawbox,
Roger Hodgson,
DJ Sneak,
Spandau Ballet,
the Slits,
The United States of America,
Robert Hood,
Dark Day,
The Dead C,
The Moody Blues,
Zero Boys,
Crispy Ambulance,
Animal Collective,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Agent Orange,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Detroit Cobras,
Yaz,
Bronski Beat,
Idris Muhammad,
The Monks,
Wings,
Suicide,
Black Pus,
kango's stein massive,
The Alarm Clocks,
Johnny Clarke,
The Golliwogs,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Main Source,
Mark Hollis,
PIL,
Arcadia,
The Fire Engines,
Rufus Thomas,
The Electric Prunes,
Das Ding,
The Invisible,
Bush Tetras,
David Bowie,
Erykah Badu,
Ralphi Rosario,
Aloha Tigers,
Kurtis Blow,
Lindisfarne,
Fugazi,
Theoretical Girls,
Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.